


High Stakes

by queenmevesknickers



Category: Thronebreaker: The Witcher Tales (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Male Friendship, don't play high stakes with Gascon, to who knows what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenmevesknickers/pseuds/queenmevesknickers
Summary: “Hey ho, Reynard. Don’t mind me, I’d hate to interrupt what is, no doubt, another stimulating evening of staring into your drink like it holds the secrets of th’ universe.”He glared. “Can I help you?”“If you’re prepared to cease hostilities – at least for th’ moment – then perhaps, yes...thought I’d see if I could tempt you with a spot of gwent.”
Relationships: Gascon Brossard & Reynard Odo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	High Stakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarilia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarilia/gifts).



> This story's inspired by a fantastic piece of art by the wonderful [zarilia](https://zarilia.tumblr.com/) ❤️ (link in the end notes)

Reynard resisted the temptation to grind his teeth as Gascon took a seat opposite him. The grudging gratitude he felt towards the bandit for his timely rescue efforts back in Lyria was almost entirely outweighed by the irritation his presence invariably caused.

“Hey ho, Reynard. Don’t mind me – I’d hate to interrupt what is, no doubt, another stimulating evening of staring into your drink like it holds the secrets of th’ universe.”

He glared. “Can I help you?”

“If you’re prepared to cease hostilities – at least for th’ moment – then perhaps, yes.”

The effort required to maintain civility in the face of Gascon’s constant smirks and endless jokes at his expense was not inconsiderable, but he did his best to rein in his annoyance. As Meve frequently pointed out, they’d still be rotting in their cells – or worse – if not for him, and his fighting men were one of the few things they had going for them, now. So he exhaled slowly, and replied: “What is it?”

“Frankly – I’m bored. We’re not exactly spoilt for entertainment out here, are we? And seeing as polite conversation seems to be off the table –” He raised an eyebrow, and Reynard felt a very small stab of guilt. “I thought I’d see if I could tempt you with a spot of gwent.”

This was not what Reynard had been expecting. “Can’t say I’ve ever really played,” he replied, more than a little dubious. “More of a chess man, myself.”

“I’m afraid I forgot to pack my chessboard when we were sneaking through sewers and running for our lives. But I always keep my deck in my pocket – never know when it might come in handy.”

“I don’t have one, though.”

“Never fear – I have a spare. Northern Realms even, suits you down to th’ ground. You can have it; if you like the game, you can build on it.”

Still, Reynard hesitated. Why, out of all the people in the camp, the exuberant Gascon had chosen his stolid company, he could not fathom. Solitude had long been his preference, and if he accepted this offer, Gascon may well take it as an invitation never to leave him in peace again.

Gascon seemed to have read his mind. “All right, don’t bowl me over with your enthusiasm. If you can honestly tell me what else there is that you would rather be doing right now, I swear I’ll let you get back to your scintillating study of the wood grain once more.”

He couldn’t help but glance towards Meve. He didn’t like to monopolise her time with idle chatter, but he did always hope there might be some matter she wished to discuss with him of an evening. He saw, however, that she was deep in discussion with Black Rayla, which caused him to frown slightly. There was no denying the dark-haired warrior was an exceptional soldier, and he respected her for it, yet there was something about her that made him uneasy; perhaps it was the slightly cruel curl of her lips, or the way her eyes shone a little too brightly when she spoke of the elves her force had slain. But she’d given them no reason to distrust her so far, and Demavend was no fool; she could hardly have risen so high in his ranks without proving her merit. So Reynard would hold his tongue – until such time as she gave him grounds for his dislike.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I suppose it’ll pass the time.” He raised his eyebrows when he saw that Gascon was playing a Nilfgaardian deck. “Really?”

Gascon rolled his eyes. “Oh please, Reynard. They’re just cards – and rather good ones, too. Besides, I only have two decks, either I play them or you do – and I thought a noble knight o’ th’ North such as yourself might balk at that.”

So he made no further comment on Gascon’s gwent allegiances and listened instead to his explanation of the rules of the game. The match was over rather quickly; Reynard could barely his annoyance at Gascon’s rather underhanded manner of explaining the rules in an order that suited him, rather than in the order that might have allowed Reynard to avoid several blunders on his first attempt at the game. But he wouldn’t give the bandit the satisfaction of seeing it.

“Play again?”

It had been on the tip of Reynard’s tongue to say no, he’d rather not – but something in the smugness of Gascon’s tone had him agreeing instead. The second game took a little longer, and had Gascon frowning at him by the end of it.

“I thought you said you hadn’t played before,” he said, his tone somewhat accusatory.

Reynard shrugged. “I haven’t. Why d’you ask? You still beat me, again.”

“Hmm,” was Gascon’s only reply.

It quickly became their habit, to play a game or two every evening. Reynard would not soon have admitted it to his new companion, but it _was_ a much pleasanter way to occupy himself, rather than endlessly mulling over their problems as he had before. Gascon was clearly more than passing good at gwent, and soundly thrashed him every game for over a week before Reynard began to win more than the odd round. Still, Reynard was undaunted – he began to look forward to the nightly challenge and distraction from their troubles. He found even Gascon’s company was becoming more bearable, with the game to direct his attention away from teasing Reynard quite so mercilessly.

A week or two into their nightly games, Reynard was immensely gratified by the surprise and dismay on Gascon’s face when he played his next card.

“Whoa, hang on a second – where’d you get that new spy card?”

Reynard shrugged, concealing his satisfaction. “You said I ought to improve my deck if I liked th’ game, so I have.”

In truth, he’d quickly realised that although his grasp of the game was greatly improving, he couldn’t hope to play on Gascon’s level without better cards. He managed a rare win, now and then, but only when Gascon drew an exceptionally bad hand. So he’d made some discreet inquiries through the ranks of his soldiers and managed to secure some significantly better cards. This had required, unfortunately, the exchange of several favours – changes to the patrols, the reassignment of some less desirable duties – which rather went against his grain; but needs must in times of war, and he was heartily sick of Gascon forever having the upper hand in their nightly battles. Besides, it was worth it just to see Gascon finally having to work to win a round.

This levelled the playing field considerably, and their games became more evenly matched, and far more interesting. Reynard was beginning to find he had a knack for the game; perhaps Gascon had more experience under his belt when it came to gwent, but his tactical mind quickly grasped which cards to hold back, and which to sacrifice; when to push onwards to victory and when to yield. He was loath to fall into the trap of considering war a game, but it was undeniable that it was not so different from commanding an army, in that sense – and the sense of satisfaction in seeing a carefully executed stratagem fall into place was undeniable. If he’d expected Gascon to resent his growing skill, he’d have been mistaken – if anything, he seemed delighted to find him becoming an increasingly worthy opponent. He was never a sore loser, always as quick to shrug off a loss with a smile and a handshake as he was to whoop and cheer at his own success, and Reynard found his respect for him growing despite himself.

When Reynard began to win equally as often, Gascon proposed making things more exciting.

“All right – how about a little wager, then? Liven things up a bit? I didn’t like to suggest it from th’ start – I’d’ve been taking advantage,” he said with a grin. “But I won’t feel so bad about winning a prize or two off you now.”

Reynard frowned. “Can’t say I’m much of a gambling man. Playing cards is one thing, but I’m not about to throw coin away on it.”

“Pshh, I wouldn’t have dreamed of playing for anything so mundane as money, Reynard. I’m sure we can come up with something more interesting than that.”

He regarded him sceptically. “Like what?”

“Hmm…how about – loser has to…make th’ announcement about pay being late again tomorrow.”

Reynard couldn’t help a snort of laughter. “Done.”

The next day found a rather harassed-looking Gascon fielding a volley of complaints and rather choice expletives from all over the camp. Still, he grinned when he saw Reynard. “Very well played, last night. I thought a little extra motivation might up the ante. Be warned though – I’ve already come up with several ideas for our next bet, and I’ve no intention of losing any of them.”

Gascon had never played so well as when he did when faced with the prospect of having to forgo his hat for a day, whilst Reynard won the right to spend an afternoon drilling the Strays in marching formations without interference – though when he spotted Gascon’s lazy grin as he lounged in the shade of a tree, he rather wondered if he’d lost that game on purpose. Reynard was then forced to spend a full day riding in the company of Sir Eyck, who was clearly thrilled to have such a captive audience as he recited his favourite passages of the good book at length, never minding his non-committal grunts in reply, or the way he was glaring daggers at Gascon, who was obviously having a wonderful time laughing and flirting shamelessly with Meve.

Enduring many hours of hearing the virtues of the knight errant’s path extolled had no good effect on Reynard’s mood, and it was not improved by Gascon’s apparent amusement, the latter barely containing his grin as he sat down at their usual table that night.

“I’m not sure I care to continue with these foolish wagers,” he grumbled, glowering at Gascon. “Can’t we just play th’ game without them?”

“Oh, come now, Reynard, it was just starting to get interesting! How about some proper high stakes tonight, eh?”

Reynard looked at him suspiciously. “What do you have in mind?”

“Anything you like. I mean it – if you win, I’ll do whatever you command.”

He blinked. Gascon had, despite his dubious past, proven a man of his word so far as their wagers went – Reynard did not doubt that if he insisted that he go and propose marriage to Black Rayla he’d do it, even though Gascon seemed just as uncomfortable in her presence as he did. But what should he ask for? There wasn’t anything he wanted, really – not that Gascon could give him, anyway. His eyes fell on Meve, who was conversing with the quartermaster. From the look on her face, he imagined the news was not good. Probably they were short on food again, or funds – or more likely, both. How he wished he could do more to solve her problems, ease her burdens…

He turned back to Gascon. “All right. If I win – you must start showing Her Majesty th’ proper respect her crown demands. No more addressing her by name, greeting her so familiarly –” _flirting with her_ “– or wasting her time with stupid jokes.”

Gascon looked affronted. “She likes my jokes! Deep down, at least,” he added, as Reynard raised an eyebrow. “Fine, fine, I agree to your terms – though I do find it _fascinating_ that I offer Reynard Odo anything his heart desires, and all he asks is that I start behaving more properly around his queen.”

Reynard prayed his expression wouldn’t betray him as Gascon gave him a rather shrewd look. The man could be far too perceptive for comfort, sometimes. “What’s your demand, then?” he said quickly, keen to change the subject.

“Well,” said Gascon, with a dramatic sigh. “It _is_ your fault that I am currently without a mount. I agree to lend you Radish one time, and how am I repaid?”

What a ridiculous name for a horse. “It’s hardly my fault that he caught that stone in his hoof. Besides, it’s only a bruise, you’ll be able to ride him again in no time.” He frowned. “Gods, you’re not going to demand to have my horse now, are you?”

Gascon folded his arms, though Reynard noticed his lips twitching. “As a matter of fact – no. I’ve a much better idea; you can be my mount instead.”

“You – what?”

“Oh, you don’t have to carry me around all day, I’m not that cruel.” He was grinning now. “Perhaps just around the training grounds a few times…”

“You must be joking,” he finally managed, once he’d recovered his powers of speech. “Out of all the things you could ask for, you want…a piggyback?”

“Indeed,” he said cheerfully. “Ah, you needn’t look at me like that, dear Reynard. After all – it’s only your problem if I win.”

He contemplated Gascon, cocky and confident as always. Reynard had won more than half their games lately, and he had a decent deck that worked well for his strategies. Surely…surely, he could do it.

“All right.” He shook Gascon’s proffered hand with a lingering degree of reluctance. “May th’ best man win.”

The game was one of the closest they’d played yet; more than ever, they were both playing to win, and despite his rather fanciful choice of prize, Gascon did seem intent on claiming it. Reynard took the first round after a close tussle, which brought him perilously close to overcommitting. He let Gascon take the second, after noting with carefully concealed pleasure that the latter had already laid down most of his best cards. That left the third round, and Reynard took no small satisfaction in laying out his meticulously planned siege row, the points quickly multiplying to leave Gascon in the dust. He was never one to gloat, especially not before the game was officially over, but he didn’t think there was any way Gascon could recover from this. And yet…there was no trace of either disappointment or resignation in his expression.

“Oooh, very nicely done,” he remarked, as Reynard tossed down his final card, his last ‘Clear Weather’. “You’ve come a long way, friend.”

“Thank you,” he replied, though he was beginning to feel rather less confident as Gascon continued to toy rather carelessly with his one remaining card. But surely there was no card left in the game that could make up so many points in one turn?

Gascon finally played the last card. Reynard blinked up at him in shock.

“’Torrential rain’…but – but you already played both –” Reynard quickly broke off, but Gascon was already smirking.

“Hmm, I rather thought a strategic mind like yours would’ve started counting my cards,” he said, eyes dancing with amusement. “So it seemed high time I made an adjustment or two to my deck – and looks like it’s paid off.” He laughed at Reynard’s outraged expression. “Oh, come now, it’s hardly my fault you made certain assumptions – and it’s not against th’ rules to change up your deck as th’ fancy strikes you. So – ready to take me out on a good gallop?”

**Author's Note:**

> ...and, for your viewing pleasure, [here's the inspiration](https://zarilia.tumblr.com/post/639958648838291456/onward-my-noble-stag-hehe-dyou-get-it-noble) \- I can only hope this story did it justice ;)
> 
> Why did I decide Reynard didn't play gwent before he played with Gascon? ~~because you need a partner to play gwent, chess you can play against yourself~~ 🥲


End file.
